


Home Ground Advantage

by Million_Moments



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Meet the Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-04 09:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Camille persuades Richard that London and Cambridge would be more fun than Clacton</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. London

**Author's Note:**

> I’m writing this because I’m certain Richard’s family love him, and it would be interesting to see what they’d make of Camille. I also chose Cambridge as a cheat because a) I live there so I know it and b) Ben Miller went to Cambridge so I decided Richard did. Thanks to Roz just Roz for the beta.

Camille never imagined she’d have to deal with a slightly giddy Richard Poole, but giddy was probably the most accurate way of describing his mood after he heard the news they had to go to London for a conference. He made it very clear, very quickly he had every intention of seeking revenge for Camille’s insistence that he learn more about island culture by dragging her to everywhere he loved in London, and presumed she would despise.

 

“Aren’t we going to be stuck in meetings all week? You know, long, boring meetings with barely any relevance to our job that actually prevents us from having any fun?” She’d finally asked in the middle of his monologue about different kinds of ale.

 

“Ha! So you might think, but actually we only have to attend the first two days – the rest is voluntary but the commissioner gave us the week anyway,” Was his inordinately pleased reply.

 

“Are you, Detective Inspector Richard Poole, seriously suggesting you’d rather play tour guide than attend such fascinating seminars such as…” Camille shuffled through the program. “‘Ensuring integration of Western African and Caribbean religion practices into policing procedure’. That you would rather skip ‘Current assessments of the impact of climate change into policing in the British Overseas Territories’ to go have fun. And if you are, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

 

“Well, actually it’s very important I see my Aunt but after that it’s Clacton whether you like it or not.”

 

Camille was going to have to think fast if she was going to get out of the caravan trip, she’d done a little research after the original jokey offer and it did not appeal. However there was no way Richard would believe she wanted to attend the seminars more.

 

“Where does your Aunt live?”

 

“RAF Wyton, it’s near Cambridge. My Uncle is in the service and they live on base.”

 

“Cambridge! Didn’t you go to University there? I mean, couldn’t we go there; I hear it’s very pretty and, uh, historic? I’ll entertain myself when you see your family,” She quickly volunteered.

 

“Well, I suppose it is quite cultural.”

 

“Think of all the stuff from your history degree you can prattle on about,” Richard glared at her and she grinned. “I mean all the knowledge you can impart.”

 

He shook his head and walked away, and Camille knew she had won. Now this was a trip she was quite looking forward too.

 

It was May, and it should be nice in May. The British had Bank Holidays in May, to celebrate the spring and enjoy the lovely weather. Camille wasn’t stupid; she’d checked the average temperatures for the time of year on Wikipedia and packed accordingly. However, somebody didn’t like her, and the UK decided to be unseasonably cold – a balmy 9°C that had her shivering as soon as she was outside.

 

The Inspector had found her discomfort amusing and admonished her for not dressing appropriately. This had brought out her stubborn side, and she’d continued to wear the same clothes and tried not to stare too longingly at jumpers in shop windows.

 

The three days they were in London she tried to cram in as much touristy stuff as possible. She mostly let Richard have his way with where they went. The day they landed it was straight to the Natural History Museum, but she’d wondered off when he was explaining some trilobite fossils to her and he’d located her in the vault staring at shiny things.

 

“You don’t even where that much jewellery,” he’d complained when he’d located her.

 

“ _All_ women like diamonds,” she’d said playfully, and turned back to admiring the collection. When she glanced up he was taking notes. “What are you doing?”

 

“Just noting down anything you take a particular interest in, you know so if it goes missing in the near future…”

 

Richard had dragged her to evensong at St Paul’s Cathedral and she was rather reluctant, but had come to a dead stop once she stepped in the door to stare up at the ceilings. Later she’d got her way with China town for dinner. When she crossed in front of a car stuck in a queue of traffic the driver had revved his engine in annoyance and Camille had stopped directly in front to start to have a go at him. Richard had rapidly taken her by the arm, dragged her across the street and told her she should ignore London drivers unless she wanted to be run over. Richard had stubbornly refused to even try chopsticks at the restaurant, but she was too pleased with him actually coming to nag him too much.

 

Wednesday morning she may have had to give her presentation slightly hung over after trying a few too many different ales at the White Hart. Her boss had been moody as quite a lot of the men in the bar had volunteered to buy her halves that evening, and yes she spoke to them it was only polite, but it was him she sat with all evening. To try to make up for it at Breakfast the next day she’d asked a question about the history of Westminster Abbey and listened as attentively as she could whilst drinking bucket loads of coffee and praying her head would stop hurting,

 

Now they were on a rather depressing looking train to Cambridge where she hoped it would be a few degrees warmer. 


	2. Evil, Vicious Creatures

The first day in Cambridge the sun actually shone. Richard found Camille with one of each leaflet the hotel had it the lobby spread out in front of her on the breakfast table. She was perusing the one for the Fitzwilliam museum when Richard sat down opposite her.

“Can we go here?” She asked, flapping the pamphlet distractingly in front of his face. He plucked it from her hands.

“Camille, the sun is out. Why would you want to be inside on a sunny day?”                              

Camille gave him a funny look, “You _always_ want to be inside when it’s sunny!”

“Yes, but that is Saint Marie, where if it’s sunny it’s thirty degrees and, though scientifically impossible, somehow 221% humidity. This is England, where it is practically the law to go out when the sun shines.”

“It’s only 12°C!”

“And you will see women with bare legs and men in shorts. Though I suggest you wear a jumper until you acclimatise”

She rolled her eyes at him.

 

Being a pedestrian in Cambridge, Richard had explained after the third cyclist had swerved to avoid Camille, meant having to use the same sort of observational skills as you would if driving a car. Unfortunately pedestrians do not come equipped with mirrors, and too many cyclists frustration have an awful tendency to come to an abrupt stop, cross the pavement to enter a shop or duck into the road without giving any visible signal of their intentions. In nearly every other city in the UK, this was fine, and those that used their feet to get from point a to point b could normally rely on their hearing alone to let them know if it was ok to step off the pavement to let a woman with a pram get past. Not so in Cambridge it would seem, where you needed to check your blind spot first to see if a silent but speedy cyclist was approaching.

“But do they have to cycle like such maniacs?” Camille complained after Richard was forced to grab her wrist to stop her being mown down by an unapologetic student probably late for a lecture.

“Hey, I used to cycle to lectures, it’s just how people get about.” At this a passing cyclist went past at such a pace that the breeze left in his wake ruffled Camille’s hair. “Though I do believe he might be breaking the speed limit.”

“Where are we going anyway?” Camille asked, her face wearing an expression of incredulity as several girls came out of a building in short skirts and sandals. Surely they’d get frostbite?

“I thought we might wonder up the river, see the College backs. We’ll pop in at Clare if that’s alright.”

Camille was trying to remember what she’d read about the college backs, and that was her excuse for asking the question, “Who’s Clare?”

Richard huffed, like being a tour guide was going to be the greatest challenge he ever faced, “It’s not a person - it’s a college, it’s where I went.”

“Right, I knew that,” Camille blushed. “It just slipped my mind.”

Camille was willing to admit the college buildings were pretty, well, awesome. It might be bitterly cold, but the sunshine did make it feel like spring and plenty of people seemed to be out on the river in small boats.

“What are they doing?” Camille asked.

“Punting,” Richard replied shortly.

“It looks like fun! Can’t we do that?”

“Absolutely not.”

Camille pulled up short, “Why not?”

“Well a) one of us will probably fall in and b) even if we don’t a swan will probably attack.”

“Those beautiful birds? They look so graceful, they’d never attack!”

“I assure you Camille, they are evil, vicious creatures probably capable of drowning a fully grown human.”

“So you’re scared on swans as well as snakes? Anything else? Snails perhaps?” She teased.

“Don’t be childish, this way.”

They veered off the path they’d been on through the gate leading down to Clare College. Camille stopped on the bridge and eyed up the buildings before her, “This is where you went to college?”

Richard stopped beside her and replied warily, “Yes…”

Camille remained silent, staring at the river. Richard tried to wait her out but then impatience got the better of him, “What?”

She shrugged, but turned away from the river to face him, “It’s just a bit fancier than where I went.”

Richard huffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, you went to one of the best Universities in Paris. Sure I went to the better university in Cambridge, but there are only two so it’s not hard.”

He won a smile from her, which was his aim.

“Isn’t it the best University in the world?”

“Only every other year, come on,” he made to leave but Camille stopped him by pulling on his arm.

“Oh but can’t we go in there?” She pointed into a garden, completely empty despite how gorgeous it appeared to be.

“Oh no, that’s the fellows’ garden, you’ve got to be attached to the college to go in.”

“Well it’s a good thing you know a fellow then!” Somebody crossing the bridge said jovially. Camille looked up to spot a man in a suit very much like Richard’s, holding his hand out to be shaken.

“Hello John! How are you?” Richard stepped forward and shook his hand.

“Fine, spotted you from my study and let the student I’d been harassing about an essay go so I could come down and see you. I think she’s probably eternally grateful.” John turned to Camille and introduced himself. “Dr. John Chance, I teach in the History Department. Richard and I used to have supervisions together.”

Camille shook his hand as she introduced herself and tried to look like she knew what supervisions were.

“So you want to see the garden?” John pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the gates.

“Please.”

“I can’t believe your actually living your dissertation,” John said as they wondered amongst the flower beds.

“I’m not living my dissertation,” Richard dismissed him.

“What was it on?” Camille asked, curious.

“Are you going to over-react? Because remember I said I’m _not_ living it!” Richard was on the defensive, which only made Camille more curious and seemed to amuse John.

“Just tell me!”

“I compared the historical practises of the Colonial Police forces to the management of law enforcement in current British Overseas Territories and Crown Protectorates to see what lessons could be learned.”

John piped up, “What were your conclusions? British Police Officers when assigned overseas should stick to the stereotype of the British as strongly as possible and resist integration, because then the locals will feel sorry for them - what with all the hapless behaviour - and be more tolerant?”

Camille rounded on Richard to find him staring at John with a very much un-amused expression – luckily she cottoned on before she launched into a full blown rant, “He’s winding me up, right?”

“Yes,” Said Richard, still glaring at John who was grinning like a naughty school boy. “It’s not an uncommon occurrence. He once replaced my assignment on witch trials with an essay entitled ‘Those bitches deserved to get burned’”

“Hey! You got a first for that!”

“And I believe you just scrapped through. After that he decided to put as much effort into his own work as he did his bloody pranks.”

Whilst the men reminisced about more aspects of University life Camille didn’t quite understand, she wondered off to admire some lavender bushes. Nestled under one stalk she found something that made her smile and decided to do a bit of her own teasing. She plucked the stalk furtively, hoping a gardener wasn’t watching her. Oh well, she reckoned she could convince Richard not to arrest her for criminal damage.

“Look!” She exclaimed happily, holding out the stalk to him.

Richard glanced down, “ _Cepaea nemoralis, the_ brown lipped snail. They’re quite common.”

Camille looked a little disappointed, and Richard huffed and told her, “I’m not scared of snails!”

John looked rather confused at this exchange, “Camille seems to find my reticence to go near snakes or swans both confusing and amusing. She came up with some insane theory I may be less than fond of all creatures starting with an S.”

“Well I haven’t got a problem with snakes but swans are nasty, vicious creatures. I’d take Richard’s advice there.”

Camille shook her head in disbelief that two grown men could be scared of a bird and then returned the snail to the same plant where she had found it. She returned to find Richard and John saying goodbye.

“It was nice to meet you Detective Bordey but I have a lecture to give shortly; I hope you enjoy your stay. Please feel free to continue to use the garden. I’ll tell the staff.”

As Dr. Chance walked away, Camille couldn’t resist comenting, “I didn’t realise there were people as English as you…”

Richard just shook his head at her but she thought she detected a smile, however brief. Her attention was quickly distracted though.

“Oh my goodness look at the duck babies!” she exclaimed, a little bit ashamed of the slight squeak in her voice. The mother duck had just clambered up from the river, ducklings in tow, and was now waddling over.

“Yes, very cute,” Said Richard in a tone that implied he thought otherwise and was just humouring her.

“Oh! I think I have a packet of biscuits in my bag I could feed them!”

Richard opened his mouth with a disapproving look, probably planning on telling her she should allow wildlife to fend for itself, but luckily Camille was saved the lecture and argument that would follow it by his phone going off. He pulled it out of his pocked, apologised to her and wondered off a little way to answer it, which meant she could get on with feeding duck babies.

 

 

“Hello Ella.”

“Mobiles have taken all the romance out of phone calls. No moment of suspense before you answer, wondering who it will be.”

“I don’t think I ever had that before mobile phones, sorry if that disappoints you.”

The woman on the other end of the line was rather resigned in her reply, “No I suppose you wouldn’t have. Anyway wanted to make sure everything was set for tomorrow.”

Whilst Ella recounted the details Richard watched Camille breaking biscuits into small pieces. Unfortunately she had also attracted the attention of other wildfowl, and Richard felt oddly smug as a rather large male mute swan dragged himself from the river and walked purposely towards her. Camille didn’t seem alarmed by this, well not until the bloody big bird stole the whole packet of biscuits from her hand and then went after her bag. He snorted with laughter, which did not go unnoticed by his caller.

“What are you laughing at?” She asked, a tad annoyed.

“Sorry, it’s just Camille is being attacked by a swan. I tried to warn her about them but she didn’t believe me. It’s currently trying to get into her bag.”

 “Camille, as in Saint Marie Camille? She’s here?” Ella sounded surprised. “Oh don’t answer that yet, be a gentleman and go rescue her first.”

“But Ella!”

“ _Now_ , Richard!”

Grudgingly, Richard dropped his phone into his pocket for a moment and went over to scare the swan off. A bit of clapping and shouting and it plunged back into the river, leaving behind a rather flustered police officer who could apparently take down the roughest criminals the Caribbean had to offer but fell short when it came to swans.

“Could you not have done that five minutes ago?” Camille complained. “I mean, I would have been okay, I just didn’t want to hurt it.”

“Of course,” he told her, keeping 90% of the sarcasm out of his tone. A tinny voice from his pocket reminded him he still had a phone call going on.

“Sorry Ella, back,” he told her quickly.

“I want you to invite her tomorrow.”

Richard froze, trying to think of a good reason why that would not be possible, “I think she has plans.”

“What plans?” Ella was very big on specifics.

“Well, she said she’d entertain herself.”

“So any plans she has may well be amenable to change?” He remained silent. “I’ll take that as a yes. Are you ashamed of your family?”

“Come on Ella you know that isn’t why…”

“Yes, I do, so put her on the phone,” she commanded.

“What?”

“Let me invite her,” it was definitely an order.

Richard walked over to Camille and held out the phone a little reluctantly, “Ella wants to talk to you.”

Camille took the phone looking rather bemused, “Hello?”

“Hi, my name’s Ella Kelly, I’m Richard’s cousin. How are you enjoying Cambridge?”

“It’s very beautiful,” Camille told her politely.

“Yes, it is. I love the fenlands. Anyway as you know Richard was coming for a visit tomorrow and it’d be great if you’d join him. We’re going to this great pub, the food is excellent. He’s told us a lot about you and it’d be great to put a face to a name. Don’t think you have to say to be polite mind.”

Camille smiled, “No that would be great, thanks.”

“So that’s decided then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, tell Richard bye from me.” Ella hung up, and Camille passed Richard his phone back.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked when she saw the slightly perturbed look on his face.

“It’s fine!”

He didn’t sound fine.

 

 

 

 


	3. Close Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling down, so I wrote this short chapter to cheer myself up.

By dinner, Camille was fed up with Richard’s reticence on the matter of lunch with his family. He was being so very English about the whole thing; she wished he would just spit out what was bothering him about the situation. She decided to take a more direct approach.

“Look, just tell me and I’ll think of an excuse not to go if you’re worried about me embarrassing you or something,” she gesticulated a little more violently with her fork than she intended.

Richard had watched the wild movements of her cutlery with concern, and held up his hands in an effort to pacify her, “There is very little you could do to embarrass me, they’ll have that covered nicely thank you, so you can stop thinking along those lines.”

“What is it then?” She asked, trying to keep the bite out of her tone.

Richard let out a long breath and addressed his place matt, “My aunt is dying, ovarian cancer. She probably has about a month left. It doesn’t seem fair to put you in that situation; it would be a bit awkward wouldn’t it? I wanted you, I don’t know, to actually enjoy your time here.”

“I’m sorry about your aunt,” Camille told him, it was all she had at that moment.

“She’s my favourite, even though it’s probably not proper to say that. I lived with them for a year when I was here at University, the whole mess and noise that comes with student housing didn’t really appeal to me. Ella was studying for her A-Levels at the time so the environment suited me better. Also the home-cooked meals didn’t harm.”

She smiled softly at him, she would never have been able to imagine him living the way she had during her student days in Paris. The tiny apartment she’d shared with two other girls had looked like a glass recycling centre half the year, not to mention the diet that largely consisted of coffee, stale pastries and Chinese take-away.

“Well I understand you don’t want me interrupting your family time so if you just tell them…”

“Oh no!” Richard interrupted her. “If you don’t turn up I’ll be accused of scaring you off. Ella is a very determined individual; she would come and fetch you if you didn’t turn up.”

“Okay then…how are we getting there anyway?” She had no idea how far out of the city they were headed.

Richard brightened considerably at her question, “We can use the guided busway, it’s the largest in in the world you know and I was looking forward to trying it out.”

Camille felt she must have missed something somewhere, “The what-way?”

“Busway, basically it’s like train tracks for buses. You see the buses are specifically designed...”

Richard spent a good 15 minutes explaining the way the busway worked – complete with diagrams drawn on napkins. This did nothing to inspire excitement in Camille.

“Do your family like buses as much as you?” She asked, stifling a yawn.

Richard’s expression turned sullen, “I don’t particularly like buses, I just think it’s an interesting bit of engineering.”

“Is there anything you don’t know about?”

Richard seemed to consider this a moment, “I have some sort of mental block about the peerage of Ireland.”

She sighed dramatically to hide her smile.

 

* * *

 

It was from the top deck of the bus that Camille realised just how flat Cambridge was. She hadn’t consciously registered the lack of hills until this moment, staring out at horizons that seemed entirely uninterrupted. As well as that, there was water _everywhere_ , lakes and streams and fields she was pretty sure weren’t actually meant to be flooded. When she’d commented as much to Richard, he’d started on a lecture about the history and ecology of the fenlands that luckily proved more interesting than his one about the busway the previous evening. Camille had no clue where he stored all this information. The lecture continued after they left the bus and walked through the town towards the pub where they were meeting his family.

“So the modern pumping stations – that’s the pub across the road – have the capacity to…”

Camille glanced to her left and went to step into the road when she was suddenly grabbed very firmly from behind and found herself flush against Richard. A car rushed past, horn blaring, at much more than the speed limit.

“Christ Camille, we drive on the left!”

Camille let out a breath. Richard still had a hand on her shoulder; she turned to face him but made no effort to increase the space between them.

“You saved me,” she regretted saying it immediately, it sounded so melodramatic.

“Well, it was for entirely selfish reasons,” he told her, clearly uncomfortable with her gratitude. “If you’d gotten yourself killed it would be a hell of a lot of paperwork and your mother would probably murder me.”

She grinned up at him, and he gave her that half smile in return that she loved so much. She tried to tell herself the reason her stomach had just flipped was just because she was hungry, and had nothing to do with their proximity. One of his hands seemed to have found its way to her hip, very likely unconsciously on his part.  A voice at the back of her head told her that if she treads very carefully, she might be able to lean forward a little more without scaring him off…

Once again, a car horn sounded directly behind her, and Richard literally jumped backwards and away from her. Camille turned to see a car indicating to turn right into the pub, the man behind the wheel waving enthusiastically.

“That’d my Uncle Jeffery,” Richard said, flustered. “We should go say hello.”


	4. Advantage lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My desktop pc died, it was very emotional. Together we had written many fanfics, not to mention my PhD thesis. However I now have a new shiny laptop, called Richard, and about one billion ideas for stories. I have to start a new job tomorrow and unfortunately I am not being paid to write fan fiction all day so I am not sure how often my updates will be from now on.

Camille managed to navigate the road safely and was pretty sure she’d mostly stopped blushing by the time they met “Uncle Geoffrey”, who was leaning against his car. A giant of a man in pretty much every direction, with most of his ginger hair gone. Richard stood well back and offered his hand to his Uncle, probably to avoid what happened to Camille when the large man hugged her and practically lifted her off the ground.

“Arenae ye braw wearin' sae wee?” he asked Camille. She didn’t understand a word of it and looked at Richard in panic, causing Geoffrey to laugh loudly. “I’m only teasing you, I’ll try to keep the Scots to a minimum. But seriously, love, you must be freezing with nae coat. Why don’t you wait inside I’ll stay out here with Richard an’ have one of the three fags me missus lets me have a day.”

Glancing back to Richard who flicked his head in the direction of the pub, Camille gratefully went inside into the warm.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Camille was out of sight (though alarmingly probably not ear shot given his Uncle’s extreme volumes) Geoffrey rounded on his nephew and slapped him enthusiastically on the back, “Well done my Son, she’s a right bonnie one isn’t she? Get her with your English charms did you?”

His nephew looked up at him with the same look he always wore when Geoffrey broached the subject of women with him, a unique mixture of panic and cynicism.

“It’s not like that Uncle Geoff, we’re colleagues - we had to come to the UK for a conference,” His nephew was as proper as always, he blamed that boarding school for his ostentatious attitude.

“Do you have a wee cuddle with all the officers on that island of yours?” Geoff asked, tone making his disbelief evident.

Richard went on the defensive, and was getting flustered and uncomfortable, which amused Goeffrey no end, “Now, I know what that might have looked like but actually there is a perfectly reasonable explanation. Just before you arrived Camille tried to cross the road and looked the wrong way because she’s so used to being somewhere they drive on the right, and in order to prevent an accident I was forced to pull her away from the road…”

“And into your arms?”

“Well, yes, that was a consequence of the action…”

Geoffrey held up his hands in defeat, “Alright, son, I’ll take your word for it. If you say you’re just colleagues that’s what you are.”

“Where is Aunt Miriam?” Richard asked him, almost warily.

“Oh, she needs some rest, don’t worry ye’ll get to see her. Ella will tell you more.”

The Scots and the English both share a reticence to share emotions, so when Richard asked, “You doing ok?” Geoff responded “Aye”, but they both knew a lot more had been said. He wondered if the French lassie was more touchy feely- but couldn’t imagine his nephew being able to put up with that for long.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Camille was inside, she made a beeline for a table next to a radiator and thanked God for the fact that the British were good at central heating. She wondered how long the two of them would be outside, and if she’d need to buy a drink so she didn’t look like she was just trying to take advantage of the heating. On St Marie, where everyone knew her, she’d never worry about that sort of thing, but England was so much more foreign to her than she ever imagined.

Camille’s contemplation of cultural differences was interrupted when slender blonde woman with a pixie haircut sat opposite her and surprised her by speaking in French.

“I promise,” she began without any kind of introduction. “Sometimes the weather in the UK is actually nice.”

“How did you know I spoke French?”

“Sorry, I’m Ella Kelly, we spoke on the phone yesterday. I saw you arrive with Richard.”

Camille smiled and greeted the woman, “You speak excellent French.”

“Well my mother spoke it to us a second language when we were children, she had enjoyed the advantages of being bilingual and wanted us to have that as well. She of course learnt it from her mother who was French.”

Camille knew Richard’s father wasn’t Scottish, so that meant his biological relation had to be his Aunt, Ella’s mother, and that would make his grandmother…

“Are you truly telling me that Richard is a quarter French?” she asked incredulously.

Ella looked a little taken aback, and Camille couldn’t blame her, the intensity of her tone probably made no sense to her. Her expression quickly turned from surprise into mild guilt.

“He never mentioned that?” she asked trying to sound casual. Camille shook her head firmly.

 “Ah has he been doing the whole typical English dislike of the French thing? He’s such a child sometimes! I’ll tell you why he does it…”

However Ella was interrupted by the loud voice of her father who was settling himself down into the chair next to her, “Now you ken I cannae speak French Ella, so let’s switch back to English, or as close to speaking it as I ever get.”

It didn’t take Richard more than five seconds for him to realise that Ella had said something to Camille that she didn’t like, and he had a fair idea of what it was.

He crossed his arms and glared at his cousin, “You had to go and tell her I speak French, didn’t you?”

“YOU SPEAK FRENCH?” Amazingly, Camille managed to ask that at a volume not yet achieved by even his Uncle Geoffrey.

“Actually, that hadn’t come up, I’d just mentioned the fact our Grandmother was French,” Ella said demurely. As a nurse within the RAF, she had been given significant training on staying safe on the battlefield and avoiding crossfire. He father and she exchanged glances, and she knew he was also reviewing tactics on how to diffuse the situation, difficult when you are only familiar with one of the parties.

Richard looked like he would rather be anywhere Camille wasn’t right now. He muttered something under his breath about losing his home ground advantage.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that,” Camille said leaning forward, a dangerous lilt to her voice. “Maybe you could repeat it in other languages you’re fluent in but haven’t told me about.” It wasn’t much of an insult, but her bad mood was pretty well established.

“I’ll get the drinks in!” Said Geoffrey.

“I’ll help!” Said Ella, taking the cue to retreat.

Richard sat opposite Camille and waited for her to speak first, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you can speak French!”

“Well if you knew you would have made me speak it,” he replied, an explanation that seemed perfectly reasonable to him but clearly wasn’t going to cut it with Camille. “Besides, feigned ignorance is a powerful tool. Having everyone on the island think I’m bloody useless at French gave me an advantage, where do you think I got the tip off about the meth lab? Or caught the felon selling fake insurance policies? The criminal underworld thought I didn’t speak French, so they carried on chatting about their reprehensible plans even when I was in ear shot, probably feeling rather smug and superior.”

“I thought you were just running some really good CI’s,” Camille said, she seemed a little appeased.

“Besides, my accent is terrible and you would have made fun of me.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Said Ella as she placed some drinks on the table. She’d gotten Richard a pint of what he normally drank but had to guess with Camille as she’d forgotten to ask in her haste to retreat, so she’d gotten her a half from the local brewery. “On those holidays in France we took Richard you always seemed popular with the local girls. I think they thought the accent was _tres sexy_.”

Before Richard had the chance to change the subject, Ella ploughed on, “In fact before you arrived I was just going to explain to Camille how you went from a wonderful young man embracing both English and French cultures, to the apparently childish individual you are today.”

Geoffrey snorted into his pint, and Camille started looking less angry and more curious. Richard suddenly spotted something behind the bar that took his interest, two hunting rifles were on display.

“Excuse me,” he called across to the barman. “Do those guns work?”

“They’re fully decommissioned Sir,” the barman replied politely.

“Are you sure? Because I’m a police officer, I’d be happy to have a closer look for you?”

The barman gave Richard a conciliatory smile, “I’m absolutely positive, Sir.”

“Got anything else I could kill myself with before this gets any worse?”

“Only the drink Sir, only the drink.”

Richard sighed, and turned back to the rest of the table, “That’ll take too long. I imagine the embarrassment will get me first. Carry on.”

Ella now snorted in a manner remarkably like her father, and continued her tale.

“Yes so Richard used to come on holidays with to Toulouse every summer for about three weeks, my mother insisted. She didn’t like the boarding school he went to and wanted him to interact with normal teenagers.”

“Is there such a thing?” Richard muttered.

“As I was saying, he proved quite popular with the young ladies, and often a local lass was left broken hearted at the end of the holiday.”

“I think you’re being a bit over dramatic,” Richard piped up, but Camille hushed him and he decided to let Ella carry on since being hushed was better than being murdered.

“Well anyway that was until Richard was 17 when along came a young woman called, now what was her name, Florence?”

“No,” Said Geoffrey. “That was the year before, I think I was Marie or Emilie or Aimee or something similar.”

“There was an Audrey, is that who you’re thinking of?”

“It was bloody Sophie!” Said Richard angrily.

“Ah yes, Sophie, anyway she broke poor Richard’s heart and after that he adopted his father’s attitude to the French and refused to come on holiday with us anymore. I really think you should be over it by now, Richard,” Ella told him firmly.

“I _am_ over it,” he replied sullenly.

“So you hate the French because some French girl broke you’re heart? Did you ask her to come back to England with you?” Camille was mocking him, but he somewhat deserved it for the whole pretending he didn’t speak French thing.

“No I said I’d apply to the University of Toulouse and she then told me she already had a boyfriend who was currently on holiday in Portugal,” Camille actually felt sorry for him at this. “And I don’t _hate_ the French - I just think they have certain traits as a nation that I, personally, do not find appealing.”

“Well I promise we don’t all run around having secret affairs,” Camille and Richard shared a look, and Ella felt like she was missing something major. However she really wanted to change the conversation, for entirely selfish reasons.

“Now we’ve established a little about Richard’s past, let us move on to his near future – you are here until Saturday, correct?”

“Yes,” he replied, wondering where this was going.

“Excellent. I asked mum to stay at home because as much as she wanted to see you I wanted her to save her strength, because I’m getting married on Thursday, so you can see her then.”

After a moment of confused silence, Richard remembered to say something appropriate, “Oh my gosh, Ella, congratulations! When did you get engaged?”

“Last week,” Ella replied brightly.

“You’ve arranged a wedding in one week?” Camille was impressed.

“Well with Mum not having much time we decided not to have anything big. We’re both RAF and the chaplain on base agreed to marry us, they are used to performing weddings at short notice. Marriage licence came through yesterday, so we thought we’d do it Thursday before you leave. You’re parents are coming up as well. And Camille you have to come because there is a distinct shortage of women and you can’t let me be the only one in a dress on the day!”

Camille was caught up in the excitement of the announcement, even if it was from a stranger, and was smiling brightly “Are you kidding? I love weddings! Of course I’ll come. Oh, where can I buy a dress?”

She addressed this last question to Richard, who looked at her incredulously and replied, “Well how the hell would I know?”

“I’ll take you shopping,” Said Ella.

Camille’s smile got even brighter.

 

 

 


	5. Difficulties with Dresses

For some reason, Richard hadn’t wanted to go shopping with them. Actually the last thing Camille wanted was him tailing around complaining, so it didn’t bother her in the slightest. Instead he went off to RAF Wyton to visit his Aunt at home, and Camille met Ella in the hotel reception where she appeared to be charming the socks off the hotel manager. Camille waited a few minutes whilst she finished off whatever she was doing.

“God that took all my charms,” she told Camille outside. “I just convinced the hotel manager to let you cancel a room just for one night so you don’t have to drag yourself back to Cambridge after the reception. I’ve got you rooms where we’re having the reception. Richard would never let me pay - hence the schmoozing.”

Ella looked tired, and Camille felt guilty about the whole shopping trip. She should probably be at home spending time with her mother not with some woman she met yesterday looking for a dress. Camille was trying to think of how to allow Ella a get out clause.

Ella looked rather happy though, “I might see if I can get a dress as well. Thank goodness you gave me the excuse, I mean I wouldn’t mind getting married in my uniform but maybe I can find something nice. Coffee first?”

Camille decided Ella probably wanted to be there, or she wouldn’t have volunteered. The British might be polite, but even they must realise they could be selfish at times like this.

It turned out Ella didn’t like tea, something Camille never imagined could be possible for a relation of Richard Poole. Whilst they drank, Ella politely asked her questions about her trip to the UK, and Camille mentioned offhand about how flat everything was around Cambridge.

“Oh, do you not like it?” Ella asked her, looking a tad disappointed that Camille had not instantly fallen in love with her home. Camille remembered how often Richard had left her feeling morose with his apparent lack of enthusiasm for the island where she was raised, a place she loved. A flare of guilt hit her, partly caused by her own inability to look past the different climate and landscape to see its intrinsic beauty but also partly because she hadn’t been very patient with Richard given the major upheaval it would have been for him to move to Saint Marie.

“It’s more that I can’t get used to it,” She told Ella diplomatically. “All my mind can focus on is flat.”

Ella seemed to accept this, but was still going to put in a case for the defence, “The skies are amazing though, they just go on forever! And the stars…if you’re away from the city you can see so many. Mind I don’t suppose you have that much light pollution on Saint Marie. Has Richard showed you his telescope?”

“Oh you mean his precision optical instrument?” Camille smiled.

Ella shook her head in mock frustration at her cousin’s antics. Then for about the tenth time since they’d sat down, looked like she was about to say something, opened her mouth to say it and then changed her mind again. Well, there was a trait she certainly did share with her cousin, Camille thought.

“What do you want to ask?” She put down her nearly finished cappuccino and looked Ella right in the eye, indicating she shouldn’t bother to try and deny there was something she wanted to say.

Ella looked over her shoulder, instinctively checking for Richard, after all he would not be happy with her for what she was about to ask. She suspected however that he would still be holding a grudge over the whole French girlfriend story. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Is Richard happy?” She finally asked.

“Happy?” Camille threw back, a little nonplussed by the question.

“You know, has he settled down ok? I mean, if you came up here with him I assume you’re…,” a slightly pregnant pause followed whilst Ella searched for an appropriate word. “Friends?”

“Oh well, I think he’s largely happy. He has settled down a lot, but he does complain nearly every day. I think he still misses the UK but yeah we all make a really great team. We get on 90% of the time,” she explained, hopefully lucidly.

“90% of the time?” Ella questioned.

“Oh we argue but it’s nothing serious, sometimes we wind each other up a bit. Any two people who spend as much time together as we do are going to fight occasionally,” Camille replied practically. Then realised she’d made it sound like she and Richard were a couple. “You know, not that many officers on Saint Marie, when we have cases it can be seven days a week,” she added.

Ella flapped her hands, “Don’t worry I hardly think he’s perfect. In fact I know he’s incredibly annoying, and requires a hell of a lot of patience. I mean, a family, they sort of have to love you and be patient with you. Other people don’t. I mean, he’s so bloody smart, way smarter than any of us.”

“Oh God, he knows about _everything_. However that does mean he thinks he’s always right!”

Ella sighed, “I mean, Aunty Justine and Uncle Howard didn’t know what to do with him sometimes. Uncle Howard was really proud when  Richard got a partial scholarship to a private boarding school and it seemed like the ideal answer. The problem was Richard was still the smartest one there. It alienated him. So he spent more and more time studying. My Mum didn’t like it, hence why he always got dragged on holiday with us. It’s just...I’m just…I’m really glad that you, that he’s okay. That you and your colleagues have the patience to deal with him, because I doubt he’s ever going to stop being difficult.”

Camille felt a surge of affection for Ella, a woman who wanted to make sure the man she grew up with was doing ok.

“I have no plans to ever give up on him,” Camille said, surprised and a little embarrassed by the passion with which she spoke. Ella just smiled.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later, Ella wasn’t smiling anymore. It wasn’t that she didn’t like shopping, she did, but she was quite efficient at it. When you can never be sure when your leave is going to be you generally want to make sure you get all of the “chores” out of the way as quickly as possible. Camille seemed to have started having some sort of crisis about what to wear. She’d given this impression of being such a confident woman and now she’d gone a bit mental.

Ella leaned against a column in the current department store and realised her phone was vibrating in her bag. She fished it out.

“Hello?”

“Ella? Are you still out with Camille?” Richard sounded like he was out on the street somewhere.

“God, yes, she can’t find a dress she likes.”

“But you’ve been shopping for _hours_.”

“I know that! She seems to be having some kind of crisis where she’s decided her breasts are too small! She won’t listen to me! There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her breasts, is there?” Ella huffed. She winced a little at her outburst, and instinct told her at the other end of the phone Richard had come to an abrupt stop on the street.

“Please don’t ever ask me about my Detective Sergeant’s breasts again,” he told her sternly.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Can’t you come and tell her she looks nice in something. She’d probably listen to you.”

“On the few occasions I have tried to compliment her it hasn’t tended to go well. She doesn’t normally lack self-confidence, are you sure something isn’t up?” Richard asked pragmatically.

“I’ve known her less than a day,” Ella hissed. “I’m not exactly in the position where I have much sympathy to go around.”

“God, no, of course not, where are you?”

Ella sighed, feeling both guilty and relieved, “House of Fraser. How is Mum?”

She heard Richard begin to move off again, presumably towards her location, “Tired but full of questions anyway. She’d also had the piano tuned especially. Haven’t touched the instrument since I moved but she was quite insistent.”

“Oh really? What did she have you play?” Ella tried to keep her question casual, but apparently went too far in her efforts to sound innocent.

“Ella please don’t tell me that you want me to play Thursday.”

“Come on Richard! You’re _really_ good and it’d be lovely and Mum loves listening to you play and it’s not like we had time to arrange anything else and…”

“Quit the guilt trip, it’s worked.” Ella jumped, as his voice didn’t come from the phone but next to her.

“What guilt trip?” God, was the world trying to check to see if her adrenal glands were functioning? Camille had approached from the other side and startled her further. The fact she had nothing in her hands means this shop had also proved a failure.

“Camille we’ve got to be at Clare in a couple of hours, is it really that hard to find a dress?” Richard didn’t hide the exasperation in his voice, and Ella wondered if this was him being helpful.

“Why are we going to Clare?”

“Formal dinner, John thought you might like it.”

“So now I need two dresses?”

“Can’t you wear the same dress?” Richard suggested, thinking it seemed rather sensible.

Before Camille could respond, Ella loudly proclaimed, “Really must get back to Mum. She’ll want to see what I bought. I’ll see you Thursday Camille, have fun at Clare!”

As she walked away, she heard Camille demand to know exactly what one wore at a formal and shook her head at Richard’s acerbic response of ‘something formal’. Well, Camille had said they only got on 90% of the time, perhaps that was an over-estimate. . . 


	6. Scan the Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the time of writing, it is May 21st and the temperature in York, where I have recently moved from Cambridge, is 9 °C. As I walked to work this morning, all I could think about was how bloody cold I was and I wish I had some gloves on. I felt rather like Camille in earlier chapters, basically.

He’d lost Camille. The problem with most college bars is that they are rather small, and after a formal always rather packed. He fished around in his pocket for his phone, wondering if she’d had enough and decided to leave. She hadn’t actually looked terribly comfortable at dinner, perhaps a little taken aback by the pageantry that went with such events. John worked to ensure the conversation was not always academic and tried to include her. It may not have been her natural environment but Camille managed to win over several older Dons with her smile and wit, and surprised them all with her ability to hold her own in a debate about contribution of the colonies during World War II. He’d held his breath when some emeritus professor told her how wonderfully exotic she was, but she accepted it as a complement and just rolled her eyes at him when the older man turned away.

Richard couldn’t help but notice just how much attention John did pay to Camille, though he couldn’t blame him as she did look stunning. However when Camille had briefly excused herself John had started to tease him.

“I’m not trying to steal her you know, so you can stop shooting me such dirty looks. My goodness I feel like we’re 19 again when you used to get grumpy because I’d speak to girls you like and you interpreted that as me trying to win them over. Half the time I was speaking to them because I knew _you_ never would, and was trying to do you a favour and get you an introduction,” he said in a low voice.

Richard attempted not to splutter, “Okay first off I was not shooting you any dirty looks, I probably just disagreed with something you said, purely academically.”

“The first one was after I commented on how much I like chicken soup!”

Richard supposed it wasn’t John’s fault Camille had said if he was ever on Saint Marie he should call her and she’d get her mother to make him her soup, he was pretty sure Camille had said that just to wind him up.

“And secondly,” he blazed on. “She isn’t _mine_ for you to steal. So if you want to pursue her I can’t stop you, though I warn you she is very argumentative.”

“There’s really nothing going on between you?” John asked incredulously.

“No!”

John gave him a knowing look, “Do you want me to see if she’s interested?”

“I’m not a child!” Richard said a little louder than appropriate. The subject was thus dropped.

Now Richard was wondering if John had perhaps decided to pursue Camille, and had dragged her off to his study for an after dinner port. But he could see John now, waving him over.

“Your young lady,” he ignored the look Richard gave him. “Was being rather heavily pursued by some of our college’s younger fellows. I believe she politely turned down their advances and stepped outside to get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air? She’ll bloody freeze to death in that dress. I’m going to go see if she’s alright or if hypothermia has set in.”

Camille wasn’t in the courtyard just outside the bar, instead after a brief search he found her out on the bridge, seemingly staring at the sky. It couldn’t be much more than six degrees, but there she was in a sleeveless dress, shivering and looking at the stars. Utterly insane.

“What on earth are you doing out here,” he asked, taking off his jacket and putting it around her shoulders on autopilot.

“Aren’t you just going to get cold?” She asked, though she pulled the jacket closer around her so he doubted she was offering back.

“I’ll survive.” He wanted to tell her they should both go back into the bar, or that he’d call a cab and they’d go back to the hotel. But then again he was standing with a beautiful woman on a bridge over the river, and feeling thankful for the cold because it meant for once the river was abandoned and the night quiet.

Camille returned to her contemplation of the stars, “Ella said to me today she really loved the skies around here - that they went on forever, I wanted to see if I could see what she meant.”

Richard frowned, “Well you’d really have to be out of the city a bit to appreciate it, but she’s right. Mind light pollution isn’t too bad. Venus is in its crescent phase so it’s very bright, and Vega is rising, summer constellations will all be visible soon.”

 She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he supposed that she was more trying to appreciate the general beauty of it, and did not require a lecture on astronomy. Just like she probably came to Cambridge to appreciate it from a tourist’s point of view, rather than spend the evening listening to a bunch of academics grumble about funding and play counterfactuals.

 “Look, I’m sorry if tonight wasn’t, you know, you’re cup of tea. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you either, it seemed like a good idea when John rang to suggest it. We don’t have to stay any longer. I can call a taxi.”

“I _did_ have a nice time, and I probably needed to added pressure to make a decision,” she insisted.

“Well, you look wonderful,” he told her quickly before he could change his mind. “Though I still don’t understand why you needed a separate dress for the formal and the wedding.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, “You think I should wear a black dress to a wedding?”

“No, I might not know a lot about fashion but I do realise that is a _faux pas_ …”

“Richard, two French phrases in one year, are you feeling well?”

He was just going to ignore that, but decided to throw her off by replying in French, “But I don’t see why you couldn’t have worn the dress you bought for the wedding tonight.”

She didn’t reply for some time, just stood there and grinned at him, which he found very embarrassing. He would never speak French to her again.

Luckily when she eventually did respond, it was in English, “Well I googled ’Cambridge formal’ on my phone and ninety percent of the women were wearing black. I didn’t want to stick out any more than I probably did.”

“No, you did well. Next step, tea with the Queen.”

The comment won him a smile, “You know I can’t hear myself think in that College bar, maybe we should say goodbye to John and walk back to the hotel.”

“You want to walk in those heels?”

“What these?” Said Camille, lifting her foot to glace at her modest three inch heels. “Richard I have chased criminals in higher heels than this, for further distances than our hotel from here.”

He could believe it.

 

* * *

 

“What is your Mum like?” Camille surprised him by asking halfway back to the hotel.

“I imagine you’ll have to chance to meet her on Thursday,” he replied. “You can judge for yourself.”

“I know that, but I want to make a good impression. A little advanced Intel wouldn’t go amiss,” She seemed genuinely concerned

Richard was utterly bewildered by Camille’s statement, “Are you worried about meeting my mother?”

Camille didn’t reply, but he could read it on her face, “What are you worried about? I doubt you can insult her as spectacularly as I did when I met your mother.”

“But what if she doesn’t like me?”

Richard was sure this conversation belonged to a different situation from what they were in. For what reason should she be nervous about meeting her bosses mother? Why should she want her approval? Perhaps this was another aspect of women he didn’t understand.

“Why would it matter if she didn’t? You’re a very confident woman Camille what people think about you doesn’t normally bother you.”

“Yes but…” She didn’t finish.

“Spit it out, we haven’t got all night.”

“Don’t English men take their mother’s opinions quite seriously?”

Richard shook his head, “In the unlikely event she declares she hates everything about you, I promise not to disown you. Plus, if I was the sort of man who did take his mother’s opinion that seriously I would never have returned to Saint Marie after my last trip, as Mum was quite insistent I should stay. But I’m sure she’ll like you.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Richard hoped that meant the conversation was finished, but she had one more thing to surprise him by saying, “I’m really glad you came back.”

Richard was sure he might have been able to formulate a good reply to that if he’d had time, but they’d reached the hotel lobby at the moment. She smiled at him as she handed back his jacket, wished him a goodnight and went off down the corridor that led to her room. And he absolutely, one hundred percent, did not for one moment contemplate following her.


	7. Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggling a bit with this! Just a short chapter in the hopes I get back into it, because honestly it’s quite close to being finished!

He was annoyed with her, she could tell. But come on, how could he expect her to where the dress on the bus? Then he’d offered to fork out for a taxi, but it couldn’t take them onto the base and it looked like it was going to rain. She moaned about getting messed up on the walk to the base chapel. Actually, she only whinged to wind him up, but he responded by putting in a phone call and getting her a room in one of the barracks near the chapel to change in. He’d one upped her and she knew it.

He was still annoyed, Camille was pretty sure this was because he now thought she was taking too long to get ready. She was probably a little more concerned about her appearance that normal, but she didn’t want to embarrass him in front of his family. He impatiently knocked on the door again.

She answered holding her shoes in her hand, apart from slipping the things on she was actually ready – but decided to give the impression she wasn’t, “What?” she asked innocently.

“You do realise it’s supposed to be the bride that’s late?” He asked, arms crossed. He was clearly making an attempt to stare her down. However, much to Camille’s satisfaction, he’s eyes ended up drawn to her leg when she lifted it to slip on a shoe. She smirked, and when he realised he’d been caught he looked at the floor embarrassed and addressed it instead. “Look, are you nearly ready or not?”

“If you’re so concerned about being late, go over and I’ll meet you there! Or are you worried then people won’t realise I’ve come with you?” She teased.

She was joking, but it looked like her words were some sort of revelation to him, one that led only panic, “God, your right, um, you don’t want that, do you? I, uh, I’ll go now, and see you over there.” He was off down the corridor before Camille had finished absorbing his words.

“Richard!” She cried, trying to get her other shoe on and get out of the door before he could disappear from sight entirely. She utilised her running in heels skills to catch up with him, hooking her arm through his. “Don’t be an idiot,” she told him firmly.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t cry, because that would be a bit weird – she had only known the bride 3 days and never met the groom. She did, however, spend the entire ceremony with a warm, fuzzy feeling and a smile on her face. She knew she was a cliché, but she didn’t care. Outside of the small chapel Richard put a hand on her shoulder and walked over to a woman in a wheelchair who Camille had been assuming was his aunt and Ella’s mother.

“Aunty Miriam you look beautiful, you know you’re showing Ella up don’t you?” He told her, falsely jovially. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, and the older woman looked at him fondly. “I’m starting to think you made this whole illness thing up just to try and get Ella married off.”

“Quit your charming, Richard, and introduce me,” she scolded affectionately. “There’s a queue of people wanting to meet this young lady, after all.”

This statement just made Camille feel nervous. She took Miriam’s hand and said, “Camille Bordey, Enchantèe.” She could sense Richard rolling his eyes at the switch to French behind her, but she ignored him. His Aunt shot him a dangerous look, and she felt rather than saw him shuffle nervously.

Probably to continue to annoy Richard, Miriam replied in French, “It’s wonderful you could join us, my dear. Hopefully the family won’t hassle you too much.” She must have caught the look of concern on Camille’s face, because she continued. “Don’t worry, Richard has been gone for a year and people are curious that’s all. I am myself! Both my sister and I would love to know what’s keeping him out there!”

Camille laughed, “He hasn’t got a choice.”

Miriam looked like she didn’t quite understand. Ella had just joined them, looking radiant, and had caught the end of the conversation. Before her mother could question Camille’s response, she interrupted, “Mum we better get everyone in the cars. Can’t have Camille standing around in the cold, we’ll send her back to Saint Marie with pneumonia.”

Camille could feel some other members of the congregation watching her. A woman who was obviously Richard’s mother (same eyes) waves enthusiastically at him and he gave a more restrained response before practically shoving Camille into a car. Camille couldn’t help but think that this might have been a reaction to the fact his (presumed) mother had begun to wind her way through the crowd towards him.

“Was that your mother?” She asked, trying to catch sight of the woman again as Richard started the car.

“Yeah.”

“I thought, I mean, do you not want me to meet her?” His actions certainly made her feel like that.

“No, no, it’s not that at all. I just think I should talk to her first and, um, make sure she doesn’t harass you with too many questions. She can be a bit enthusiastic sometimes.” The strain in his voice was evident, even a rookie officer would be able to tell he was lying. She stared at him hard until he was forced to take his eyes off the road to acknowledge her even if it was just for a second. “What?”

“You’re lying!”

“Right, yes, I forgot you can do that. Well I didn’t, I just hoped you’d be off your game for once,” he admitted. “Ok, fine, um, this is embarrassing but I want to make sure she hasn’t got the wrong impression. That, she realises we’re just colleagues. Let’s just say your mother isn’t the only one who wants to marry their child off.”

She shook her head fondly, “Hey, want me to pretend so she leaves you alone?”

“Really? You want to spend the evening answering questions about how many grandchildren you’re willing to supply her with, and deciding if we should move to the UK or if my Mum should come out to Saint Marie to help with the babysitting?” He HehEhEHehafoenhsgrj

He asked as he pulled into the car park of the hotel where the reception was being held.

She thought about it, “Well you’d owe me the biggest favour ever but I might be able to handle it for one evening.”

“Oh don’t tempt me,” He looked genuinely wistful. “If she finds out you’re not in the picture she’ll probably spend the evening trying to foist me onto my cousin Philippa.”

“Wow,” She said quietly. “Surely that’s illegal?”

“No, it’s perfectly legal.”

“That is so wrong, there really should be a law against it,” Camille couldn’t resist the chance to mock the English any chance she got.

“It’s also legal in France.”

“Damn you for knowing that.”

 


	8. Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my will I ever finish. Once again thought I’d pick entirely different characters than what I have written for Richard’s parents before.

Camille popped into the ladies’, and when she came out she realised that the wedding party seemed to have taken over the hotel’s dining room. Considering how short notice this wedding was, it occurred to her there were really quite a lot of people here. Glancing over the other attendees, she did realise Ella hadn’t been lying about the lack of women – or at least the lack of women under the age of fifty. It looked like her new husband had invited most of his colleagues, the room was awash with young men in uniform and Camille had to wonder if anyone was actually left on base.

Camille had walked towards the bar, intending to get herself and Richard a drink as everybody else seemed to be. She spotted her boss talking a little more intently than was probably necessary to his mother near the door, and smiled to herself.

“Oh he’s probably giving his mother a lecture about not asking too many questions,” an unfamiliar voice declared behind her. Camille turned to see an older man who was oddly familiar, it wasn’t hard to surmise it was Richard’s father. “Of course she’s simply desperate to know why he turned down the transfer back to London, I’ll warn you now that she may very well corner you later to see if it might be you. Though just looking at you I can tell there is nothing going on between you and my son. Unless his skills with women have dramatically improved…”

There were a lot of thing in that little speech for Camille to process, which is why instead of replying she stared dumbly at Richard Poole Senior for a few awkward moments. Eventually he frowned and asked loudly and slowly, “You do speak English, right?”

“Yes!” Camille cried, a little indignantly.

“Well you didn’t respond, and Richard said you were French once,” He told her, clearly confused by her behaviour. Camille couldn’t actually blame him.

“I was just a little surprised. Richard never mentioned he was offered a transfer back to the UK,” She explained, and then added in an almost defensive tone, “And actually I _am_ here with him.” She realised the latter implied more than was technically true, but she didn’t like a father who was disparaging of his son.

These two declarations earned her raised eyebrows, “ _Richard?_ Well, I guess things are more relaxed in the Caribbean.” He paused, then asked thoughtfully, “Is there some sort of shortage of men on your island?”

“NO!” This time her response was more than just a little indignant. A little voice in the back of her head said she might regret what she was about to say, but Camille often didn’t listen to that little voice even when it was being reasonable. “Richard is funny and a brilliant detective and smart and …” she fumbled for a synonym of brilliant, but her brain failed her. “And just…brilliant. And those are very attractive qualities in a man.”

Richard’s father actually looked quite impressed. He gave a small nod and said almost jovially, “I see. Well I hope my little revelation about the transfer offer won’t get him in too much trouble with you!”

Now he mentioned it in that context, Camille was pretty annoyed. Why did he moan about home so much when he’d had the offer to return and turned it down? She, Dwayne and Fidel had all talked about the possibility of his post becoming long-term, especially more recently when he seemed to really start settling in. One time they had drawn straws to see who would mention the fact he could request that his transfer be made permanent. She had lost, and was almost certain the boys had set her up. However that very evening he went off on one of his ‘I-hate-this-island-and-everything-in-London-is-perfect’ rants that he was still prone to have on occasion, and she was kindly released from the obligation by her fellow officers.

“We’ll see,” was all she managed to say in reply.

At that moment Richard appeared besides her, declaring rather nervously, “Dad! Hello! I see you’ve met my, uh, colleague Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey.” He clearly hoped the formal introduction would make it clear that they were here as just that, colleagues.  

“It’s alright son, she already told me she was here with you. But I can understand why you’d want to avoid your mother’s awkward questions, so I’ll keep that little bit of information to myself.” Good Lord, the man actually winked and tapped the side of his nose before leaving.

Richard watched his father leave with a frown on his face, before turning to Camille and simply asking, “What?”

She winced and then admitted, “I may have given him the impression we were here together…well _together_.”

“What? Why on earth would you do that? I told you I was going to tell my mother there was nothing going on and then you tell my father that there is! And…and…there _isn’t_.”

“I know! But he just took one look at me and said obviously we weren’t here together and I didn’t like the assumption!” Their tiff was starting to attract the attention of some of the other guests, who were whispering to each other. Richard noticed as well, and pulled her further to the side of the room.

“You didn’t like the _assumption_? Well that’s just fine! Never mind the fact my life is going to be miserable. My Dad won’t keep that quiet forever, he’ll tell my Mum and then I’ll have a _hell of a lot of explaining to._ ”

He was clearly angry, but Camille had a card up her sleeve, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been offered a transfer back to London that you turned down?”

For a moment he looked horrified. He let out a quick breath and then said, “Well sometimes these misunderstandings happen and I suppose sometimes, um, you know, the best thing is to, you know, let them go..?”

“Well I could certainly see the advantage of doing that on this particular occasion.” Her agreement was clearly a relief to him.

 

* * *

 

 

They ended up sitting at a table with his parent’s, which meant putting up with his Dad shooting the pair of them significant looks and his mother clearly getting increasingly curious. Richard utilised the small talk skills he had learnt from Camille to keep other people at the table talking, in the hopes no more embarrassing stories would be told by his parents. Camille knew far too many things about him from this trip, and it was making him a little nervous.

During desert, Ella practically flopped into the seat next to him that had just been vacated by an RAF accountant called Henry. Turned out accounting in the military wasn’t much more interesting than normal accountancy, but Richard had still managed to get the man to talk about it for 20 minutes. Richard took one look at the smile his cousin was giving him and knew he would not like what he was about to hear.

“We should totally play pop song piano after dinner. Every table can form a team and shout out when they know the answer! It’ll be great!” Ella said with an enthusiasm he would never, ever, share.

“No. Just no, for so many reasons, no,” he replied firmly. “When I agreed to play that is _not_ what I meant.”

Ella gave him a sulky look, and then the question he was dreading was asked by Camille, “What is…pop song piano?”

He shot Ella a dirty look, which probably wasn’t very nice considering it was her wedding day, but he truly felt she deserved it for the torment he had suffered at her hands recently. It was honestly like they were back to being teenagers again.

“It’s a game Richard and I used to play,” Ella began to explain. “Richard would transcribe whatever was in the charts for piano, and I would have to guess what it was. The fewer notes I did it in the better. I’ll admit it isn’t the best titled game on the planet but I gave it that moniker and I’m afraid I’m not as imaginative as Richard.”

“I didn’t even know you could play,” Camille sounded like she was actually complaining.

“He was Young Musician of the Year 1984,” his mother supplied, probably thinking she was being helpful. “We bought him a telescope as a reward that Christmas.” Richard tried not to frown at her use of the word ‘telescope’.

“So not only can you play you’re good! Well that game sounds like fun, why can’t we do that?” Camille berated him.

“Because I think the last time I paid any attention to popular music was 1991, and I didn’t much like it then. I barely remember any of those and I know nothing more recent,” he explained, frustrated.

Camille seemed willing to acquiesce. “He’s right about that,” she addressed Ella. “He didn’t know who Beyoncé was.”

“You don’t know who Beyoncé is?” To the surprise of pretty much everyone at the table, the question was actually asked by his father.

“You like Beyoncé Uncle Richard?” Ella asked. “I wouldn’t have thought her music was your…style.”

“I didn’t say I liked her music,” his father scoffed. “I do however know who she is. Officially credited by the Oxford English Dictionary as being the first user of the word ‘bootylicious’. It was on Countdown.”

“Oh was it that Susie Dent woman? Honestly I swear you memorise every word that comes out of that woman’s mouth,” Richard’s mother complained mildly. “You’re far too old to have a crush.”

Susie Dent was a subject his father and he could actually, for want of a better word, bond over. However sadly Richard was denied the joys of Countdown on Saint Marie. He imagined if there was a Caribbean version that time limit would be a lot more than 30 seconds and liming would indeed be a word.

“Well, given your lamentable knowledge of popular music we’ll just stick to the original plan. I shall then educate you when I plug my iPod into the sound system later,” Ella was looking a little smug.

“You aren’t _that_ much younger than me, Ella,” Richard grumbled. “Don’t act like your _so_ in touch with popular culture.”

“Oh but I am, I have to train all our recently graduated nurses after all. Though I will admit I am not capable of going out clubbing and coming in fresh faced the next day anymore. Anyway when will you play?”

“If you can plug your iPod in what do you need me to play for?” He knew that he had agreed, and that he was no longer being subjected to the humiliating prospect of ‘pop song piano’, but if he could wriggle out of it he would.

“Because I want to hear you play,” Ella said simply.

“And so do I, Richard darling. It’s been far too long,” his mother complained.

“Yes, this is something I _have_ to hear for myself as well,” Camille added, piling on the pressure.

Ella then played the trump card, “Plus you know how much my mother loves to hear you play.”

Richard resigned himself to his fate.

 

* * *

 

 

It seemed there was an almost immediate clamour at the table when Richard accepted the ‘invitation’ to play. Everyone seemed to have a request. Matronly Great Aunts appeared suddenly out of the woodwork requesting pieces Camille had never even heard of. Eventually Richard threw his hands up and said, “I’m not playing all night. Only two people get to put in requests, Ella and Aunt Miriam and then you plug your bloody iPod in and leave me alone for the rest of the evening.”

Camille, if asked, would have to admit that she knew only a little more about classical music than Richard knew about Beyoncé. Which meant that though the piece Richard sat down to play (and play well, she could tell that uneducated as she was) was definitely familiar, she couldn’t name it. Richard’s father was either psychic in these matters, or possibly just assumed she didn’t know. Either way, he leaned across the table and said in a low voice, “Pachelbel's Canon, transcribed for piano. Nice of them not to give Richard anything too challenging, I think he might be a bit rusty.”

“That isn’t challenging?” Camille found that hard to believe, considering she would probably struggle to find the right notes to play Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.

“Not for a player of Richard’s standards, probably could have been professional. He is far too sensible to have considered that of course.” Camille thought Mr Poole sounded rather proud of both of those facts about his son.

Then Richard was moving on to the next piece, and within a few bars of the music starting Richard’s father again leaned across to speak to her quietly, “Oh, this will be Miriam’s choice – a more contemporary piece. _Bella notte_ by Ludovico Einaudi, Miriam loves him.”

For a moment, Camille had though he meant the song from _Lady and the Tramp_ , but it obviously just shared the same name. She decided quite quickly that she really liked what she was hearing. It was amazing really what she had learnt in such a short amount of time in the UK with him. Camille had to wonder what else he was keeping to himself.

Richard sort of acknowledged the applause he got with a half wave of his hand, before hurrying back to his seat and looking like he’d rather the attention came off him now. Camille gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“You play so well! I really liked that last one.”

“Oh right, yes, Einaudi. Sort of reminds me of you, actually.” Camille thought she might actually blush, had he just complimented her? “You know, beautiful but bloody difficult.”

The smile that had lit up her face at the word ‘beautiful’ was rapidly replaced by a much less impressed look. She punched him in the shoulder this time, and tried to look annoyed, failing utterly within ten seconds when he shot her a half smile – clearly amused at his own joke. And she supposed he _had_ called her beautiful.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille seemed genuinely surprised when within about a minute of the ‘popular’ music starting, she was asked to dance by a young officer. It did not surprise Richard, he’d noticed that most of the men in the room had glanced her way more than once during dinner. Even if Camille hadn’t been one of the few women in the room under the age of fifty, he imagined she’d still be attracting a lot of attention just because, well, she was beautiful. When she had been asked she actually looked to him as if she was seeking his permission.

“Oh Camille, I wouldn’t look to my son and expect him to dance. He started refusing to do so from about the age of seven, never figured out why,” his mother told her. “Young people should dance at the wedding, and these young men need somebody to dance with, so I’m sure my son will let you go so you can oblige them with your company.”

Richard gave a brief nod to show his agreement, and then didn’t know if he should be thanking his mother or annoyed at her for her presumption. Obviously he didn’t _want_ to dance, but if Camille had insisted he would have agreed. As long as it was a slow song. And not too many people were watching. For the next couple of hours Camille would barely return from one trip to the dance floor before somebody else was asking her to dance. Camille, being polite, didn’t turn many down. Meanwhile Richard sat with his father (his mother was off gossiping with other relatives) as he got increasingly drunk. Richard was doing his very best to keep his eyes off Camille when she was dancing, because he was pretty sure the look on his face was not a neutral as it should be in this situation.

 

* * *

 

 

Ella’s husband (she found it very strange she could call him that now) found her at the bar and briefly buried his nose in her neck, an affectionate greeting they had used for nearly as long as they had been together. He leaned in and spoke quietly in her ear. She was sort of hoping for sweet nothings, and was a little surprised when the topic of conversation was Richard.

“Hey, should I tell the boys to lay off your cousin’s girlfriend? I think it’s winding him up a little.”

“He’s not her girlfriend!” she told him, “Though he clearly wants to be.”

“Fine, I’ll tell them to leave off so he has half a chance with the woman!”

He moved off to do just that but Ella called him back, “Anthony you’ll do no such thing! A little jealousy won’t do any harm, he needs the encouragement. I order you to say nothing, Major.”

He smirked, “You realise I actually out rank you?”

“In the air force, maybe, in this marriage – not so much.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” He snapped off a salute, then took her by the hand and dragged her onto the dance floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille threw herself into the seat next to Richard, and then practically glared at the officer who had headed her way – probably hoping to secure the next dance. She kicked her shoes off under the table, leaned back and smiled at him in the sort of way that made him all flustered.

“They might be good dancers, and the uniforms are cute, but most of them are a bit dull,” she confided in him.

“Surely war stories are better than lectures about the drainage of the fenlands,” he tried not to sound bitter, but wasn’t sure he got away with it.

“Maybe if I believed half of it. And I liked learning that, it was interesting.” Richard assumed she was just being nice, which annoyed him – he didn’t want her pity. “I’d never be interested in a military man, anyway, what with them always disappearing. I like my man where I can see him.” She leaned in and poked him playfully in the chest, smiling affectionately. At of the corner of his eye, he could see his Dad smirking again.

“You should drink some water or you’ll get dehydrated,” he told her sensibly.

She rolled her eyes, “I am a grown woman, and I do know these things. Though I am also really thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some.”

At the bar, his father sidled up next to him, “Richard, I know I don’t tell you these things, but I’m proud of you.” Richard couldn’t help but notice that as he said this, he was actually looking towards where Camille was waiting for him.

“Dad, are you proud of me because I’m a Detective Inspector in the Metropolitan Police with an incredible case closure rate, or because I brought a beautiful woman to my cousin’s wedding?”

His father frowned, clearly unhappy at having been caught out, and then said, “Can’t a father be proud of _all_ of his son’s achievements?”

Richard let out a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very busy at work at the moment, so my writing rate will temporarily decrease! Two more chapters should see this finally complete.


	9. After Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refer to quite a few things in previous chapters. Knowing how long it has taken me to write this story, I thought I would warn you. If something doesn’t make sense it probably got established in a previous chapter!

At 11:05 pm, somebody set off a few fireworks outside of the hotel that had most of the guests running for the lawn. Richard decided to ignore the fact that the law was being broken, since it was his cousin’s wedding and it was only five minutes past the legal curfew. There was also the fact that when he mentioned it to Camille, she had given him the sort of look that implied he might be being a bit pedantic.

The fireworks sort of marked the end of the proceedings, which was a surprise to Camille, but the officers had a curfew on base that they couldn’t afford to break. Richard walked Camille back to her room, though he was on another floor, simply because it was polite and for no other reason what so ever. To his utter surprise, she invited him in when they got there. He just stood there eyebrows raised and looked mildly shocked. She rolled her eyes in response.

“Just to have a cup of tea or something! I didn’t get to speak to you much this evening. Or dance with you.” She’d walked into the room, leaving the door open, and he sort of felt he had to follow her inside.

“Well you were busy with other offers anyway,” though Richard’s brain had instructed his mouth to say that casually, it had come out sounding distinctly like he was annoyed and rather jealous about the whole thing. If it was anyone but Camille, he might have just hoped they wouldn’t notice – or if they did they would simply ignore it and move on. But this _was_ Camille he was talking to, so she picked up on it straight away.

“Doesn’t mean you couldn’t have asked,” she chided him gently, before giving a triumphant little smile. “We could dance now!”

Richard was pretty sure Camille hadn’t drunk more than about three glasses of wine, so assumed this rather insane suggestion was borne out of her general enthusiastic approach to life. He was still standing rather awkwardly beside the door, ready to bolt as soon as she was bored of him, hands clasped behind his back. He rolled forward on to the balls of his feet nervously before pointing out, “There’s no music.”

The triumphant smile didn’t leave her face, so Richard assumed she had some sort of evil little plan up her sleeve.

“Smart phones, Richard,” She said, pulling her ridiculously large device out of her small handbag and waving it at him. “They do all sorts of things as well as call people now. That includes storing and playing music – quality won’t be the best from the phone’s speakers but I believe we’ll be able to dance to it.”

He gave her a long look and then sighed. “There is nothing I can say or do to get out of this, is there?”

Her smile only got bigger, “Nothing at all.”

“I suppose I should be grateful there are less witnesses if I step on your feet. Though we actually did have to learn at school.”

Camille looked up from pursuing her phone to raise an eyebrow, “Let me guess, you are actually secretly really good and got a commendation for it?”

He gave her a half smile, “No, dancing is not a skill I have been secretly hiding from you.” He frowned and she went back to trying to select a song, he was surprised how seriously she seemed to be taking the task. “Are you going to take all night picking a bloody song?”

“Well most of the stuff on here is for running. I assumed you would prefer something other than Beyoncé or Flo Rida.”

“What sort of name is Flow Rider for a band?”

Camille seemed amused by this question, “It’s just the one man actually. You really do need some musical education.”

“Who would name their child that?” He asked. He might not be in touch with modern music, but he thought he would have noticed if fashions in names had changed _that_ much.

“That’s his stage name,” Camille informed him wearily. “I don’t know what his birth name is.” Richard was about to ask the question ‘why would anybody choose such a strange stage name’, but Camille seemed to sense this was coming and held up a hand to halt him, “I don’t know why he chose it either. Perhaps you could write him a letter and ask. Right, here we are.” She pressed a button on the phone and tossed it down on to the bed. Richard followed its progress with his eyes, then immediately looked away in case she thought it was looking at the bed for other reasons.

He didn’t recognise it, but it was a slow song which meant he could manage. She stood in front of him in much the same way as last time they had attempted this, and with a sigh and a roll of his eyes (because he could never, ever let her know he might actually _want_ to dance with her) he took her hand. She smiled and stepped in surprisingly close, then rested her head on his chest as they half swayed to the music. Richard had to work quite hard not to seize up entirely in the shock of her closeness, and began repeating a mantra along the lines of ‘it’s just a dance, it’s just a dance, it’s just a dance’ to stop him freaking out about the possibilities of where this may be leading.

“You know what, I don’t think I’m going to tell everyone everything I’ve learned about you on this trip,” Camille spoke into his chest.

“What sort of things?” He didn’t think she’d learnt _that_ much.

“The being able to speak French, the award winning piano playing skills, the string of French girlfriends…” He could feel her grinning.

“I did not have a string of French girlfriends!” He protested. “Half of the ones they mentioned were just girls I was spending time with in a normal platonic way.”

She giggled, “Well, anyway. I sort of like the idea of being the only one who knows those things about you.”

“Because you plan to use them to blackmail me?”

She pulled back and gave him an incredulous look, “No! I’ve no intention of blackmailing you! I just, I don’t know…” She trailed off, putting her head back on his chest. Richard thought maybe she was holding back, but then again it was the sort of strange emotive thing she would say. He hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart was racing. “I would like to hear you play the piano again though. Hey, it’s my birthday in a couple of weeks, you can play me something then!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Not a usual request for a birthday present.”

As Richard said that, Camille realised the song was over, and it had been for a while, but they had failed to move away from each other. She pulled back so she could look him in the eyes again, and told him quietly, “But that’s what I want.”

“Okay,” he replied, almost a whisper. She didn’t look or move away from him. Camille was perfectly aware that he was not unaffected by her closeness. If he was any good at reading emotion in people, he might have spotted that she was equally affected by his. She noticed that his eyes flicked down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. For the second time on this trip, she leaned forward, desperately hoping for a better result on this occasion. She turned her head, paused before their lips actually touched and knew even he couldn’t misread these signs. She prayed that he would close the gap.

But then Richard freaked out.

There wasn’t a car horn beeping as an excuse this time, he just jumped away from her and paced over to the other side of the room. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, and addressed the floor when he finally spoke, “We can’t do this, it just isn’t right.”

Camille crossed her arms sighed aggressively, she felt like she was going to have to convince a child that there weren’t actually any monsters under the bed. “For what reason is it ‘not right’?”

“Us! As a relationship! It is completely illogical, it makes no sense, it just isn’t right.” He sounded frantic, and Camille really wasn’t sure what he was going on about. Okay, so she was willing to admit they might not be compatible in every aspect, but surely the fact they both cared for each other made up for that?

“I know we bicker,” she said patiently. “But it isn’t malicious. We don’t argue nearly as much as we used to if that is what you’re worried about.”

“Oh it’s not just that, look, let me show you,” To Camille’s amazement, he pulled out his police notebook from his pocket along with a pen. Was the man ever off duty? “There was this sociologist, he wrote this equation, right, where you can input certain values and it gives you a probability of an attempt at a relationship being successful. If you use values for us…”

Camille couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Drastic action was called for.

 

* * *

 

 

The room the hotel had given Ella and Anthony had a balcony. Ella leaned against the railing, it was still cold there was no denying it, but on a clear night she could never resist the opportunity to look up at the stars. Plus Anthony holding her certainly staved off some of the cold.  Without meaning to, she let out a massive yawn, causing Anthony to chuckle.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, turning around to face him. “I’m just so tired.”

“Oh Thank God!” he said emphatically and much to her surprise. “Me too! I mean if you _really_ want to I suppose I could manage to consummate the marriage but I was rather hoping you’d just want to sleep and maybe do it in the morning.”

Ella burst out laughing, “Oh, the romance of that proposition, how can I possibly resist?”

“Hey, we’re married, that means I don’t have to try anymore doesn’t it?” Ella punched him in the arm for that.

Above them, they heard a sudden clatter, as a window was opened. What looked very much like a notebook sailed past them and landed on the lawn of the hotel. What was unmistakably Camille’s voice then reached them from above, “I don’t care what some formula or sociological study says, you idiot! It’s you I want! Why can’t that be enough?”

Ella couldn’t help herself, she tried to lean over the raining and look up in an attempt to see what was going on. Anthony couldn’t lecture her because he was doing exactly the same thing. If Richard had replied to Camille, they didn’t hear what he said, but they did hear Camille let out a short, joyful burst of laughter and clearly both reached the same conclusion as they looked at each other grinning.

Anthony raised an eyebrow and said cheekily, “Well at least somebody is getting lucky tonight!”

 


	10. The One Where Camille Has to Calm Down Richard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, but with a definite sequel planned for the future.

There were many words Camille could use to describe how she felt at this moment. Satisfied, that would be quite high up on the list. A little surprised as well if she was truthful. And happy, very, very happy. Richard’s arm was flung over her stomach, but he had fallen asleep quite soon afterwards as men were sometimes warrant to do. Camille didn’t take offense though, she’d never actually felt as close to somebody as she had to him when they had been making love. She rolled on her side, examining Richard’s sleeping form. He looked probably the most relaxed she’d ever seen him, hair messed up and sweaty, breathing deep and even. Just listening to his breathing was making her feel sleepy as well. She snuggled in closer to him and closed her eyes, but as she did her foot brushed his.

Camille frowned, something didn’t feel quite right, lifting up the sheet and peering down she couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles at what she saw. Though she tried to control them, they were still loud enough to rouse Richard from his slumber.

“Please tell me I said something amusing in my sleep rather than you’ve just realised it was ridiculous to sleep with me?” He asked sleepily, frowning at her as she continued to giggle.

“No, no, of course not. I’m sorry but you still have your socks on,” she calmed herself down enough to say. Richard didn’t seem to quite understand why she found it so funny.

“I don’t like having cold feet,” he offered by way of explanation. He clearly though wearing socks during sex was entirely reasonable.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice earlier,” she told him, still smiling.

He gave her an intent sort of look that made Camille blush, before saying with a cheeky grin, “I believe I had you suitably distracted earlier. Besides, I will have you know studies in the Netherlands have shown that wearing socks in bed increases the likelihood of climax in women, so clearly cold feet are a big deal.” He sounded almost sulky, spouting off that fact. Camille was left marvelling at the fact that he had used the words sex and climax in a sentence without becoming so flustered he was incapable of speech. She could only assume it was some kind of post-coital increase in confidence.

“Well I didn’t have any socks on and I didn’t have any problems. In fact, I didn’t have any problems _twice_ ,” she figured the boost to his ego was worth it if it kept him this relaxed about the situation.

“Well maybe if you’d had socks on we could have made that three times you didn’t have any issues,” he teased, before leaning in to kiss her. He pulled back and said, “You know, I do like science experiments.”

Camille gave him a look, “There is no way I am getting up from this bed to rummage through my case for socks. Of course the tights I was wearing earlier I can see have been discarded relatively nearby, but I think putting them back on might rather impede proceedings.”

“Oh well, you can borrow mine,” he said quite seriously. Camille laughed as he rapidly pulled off his socks and almost tenderly placed them on her feet. He then sat back and they both took a moment to admire his handiwork, “What do you think?”

“Oh yes, very sexy,” she told him sarcastically.

“Yes, you are.” He leaned in again to kiss her, and if the whole sock conversation wasn’t clear about his intentions were the way he kissed her was.

But then Camille made a mistake, one that had her cringing almost before she finished saying the word. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, when she had intended to say his name her mouth instead supplied the word ‘Sir’. He immediately stilled, before pushing away from her, off the bed and proceeded to freak out.  

Face in his hands, Camille heard him mutter, “Oh my God what have we done?” Before he seemed to realise he was still quite naked and hurriedly gathered his clothing and started to dress.

“Richard!” She cried, trying to get his attention. He apparently wasn’t able to look at her at the moment though, because he continued to resolutely put his clothes on. “Richard, stop!” She had to practically shout, and he finally paused whilst buttoning his shirt. She took a deep breath and adopted a soothing tone, “Look, I know it wasn’t the most appropriate thing to say it just slipped out. Probably better ways to be reminded our…working relationship…is something we need to address in the near future but I really think you’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting!” He spat, finally turning around to face her. “This is _entirely_ inappropriate. I am your superior officer, and we work in an _extremely_ small team. A relationship is _going_ to compromise our work! There is _no way_ the Commissioner would approve of this. And forgetting about all that for a minute, it could also irrevocably damage your career.”

“Oh I doubt that very much,” she tried to argue back. “You are just thinking about worst case scenarios, assuming the Commissioner won’t approve. And I mean really, how could this ruin my career? You’re being so dramatic!”

He sat down on the bed again, which Camille thought was a good sign, but he sounded weary when he spoke next, “Camille you are not naïve. I would like to say that we live in a perfect world where everyone is judged on the merits of their work alone but we don’t. You are a fine police officer, but you are also a woman, a beautiful one, and there are still people who will look for ways to disparage you and a relationship with your commanding officer would be a great place to start.”

“I don’t care about what those people think!” Camille protested, and it was true. She knew her own capabilities, and she knew the people whose opinions did matter to her would not think any such thing.

“I care, Camille.”

Richard gave her an intent look when he said this, and she knew this was not an argument she was going to win at the moment. Right now, the thing she wanted most in the world was for him to come back to bed and finish what he started, then for her to be able to fall asleep in his arms. If they carried on in this vein, they would spend all night arguing until one of them stormed off – quite possible her even if this was her room. Camille realised she might be able to bring him round in the future, but first she needed to come up with a way to calm him down _now_. Her brain supplied her with an idea, one that was quite frankly insane but there was a chance it would work, and she was willing to give it a try.

“Ok, listen a second. Right now, we are in Cambridgeshire in England away from all of our colleagues, there is _nobody_ who knows about us right now, right?” She reasoned. He looked unsure of where she was going, but he did nod in agreement. “So none of the things you fear have happened yet. I understand, you’re worried about the risks. But, I had these friends right. They were good friends and part of a small group and when they were on holiday, strangely enough in London to go to a wedding, they ended up sleeping together. Now they were worried about ruining their friendship, and also interfering with the dynamics of the group they were in. So they just decided to keep it in London.” She paused, looking at him expectantly, but he was still not entirely following her.

“Look, I’m not sure why you telling me this because as far as I can tell you’re just agreeing with me that this was a mistake and we should not repeat it.” Camille fought to keep the hurt off her face at his description of their evening as a mistake, but he must have caught something in her expression because his features softened and he added. “I don’t mean a mistake like that, I only regret it in relation to the harm it could do to you. Being with you was…fantastic.” There was a sincerity in his tone that Camille found comforting.

“Well you haven’t quite interpreted what I was saying fully.” Camille pushed onwards with her plan. “You are preparing to run out of my room immediately and planning to try to ignore this entirely. I am saying that my friends agreed to keep that part of their relationship in London, and that we could do the same – accept more generally England rather than London before you get all pedantic. But Richard, _we’re still in England_.”

The frown remained on his face for a few moments, before he gave her a sly look and she noticed a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “So, you think we could continue to spend time together more, um, intimately whilst here in the UK but on Saint Marie return to being just colleagues and, um, friends?”

He’d said ‘friends’ almost shyly, as if he was worried it wasn’t quite true. Camille gave him a kind smile, shifting closer to him, “Yes, that is what I am saying.”

“And this worked for your friends?”

“Uh huh,” was all she managed, hoping he wouldn’t detect the fact her voice had just shot up several octaves due to the lie.

“That sounds like a plan,” he said slowly, brushing hair back from her face and rubbing his thumb against her cheek. She smiled contentedly, certain she’d won a temporary victory. Hoping he’d hurry up and kiss her, she was disappointed when he opened his mouth to speak again, “Who _are_ these friends of yours?”

Camille’s brain had already begun to contemplate the activities she was hoping they would be doing in the very near future, so was entirely unable to supply her with a suitable answer fast enough. Thus she was forced to take a risk. He hadn’t recognised the scenario after all. “Oh you don’t know them, they’re called Monica and Chandler.”

She had a brief moment of panic when Richard frowned, but much to her relief his only comment was, “I’ve never heard of the name Chandler before.”

She rolled her eyes, and said with no small amount of frustration, “I’m sure you can cope with a small gap in your knowledge. Now, Richard, can we please get back to completing your little experiment involving socks?”

“Well, I suppose we could…”

Sometime later, Camille finally thought she understood the meaning of “to knock someone’s socks off.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sunlight woke her up, a consequence of them never having shut the curtains the night before. Mind just because it was light out did not mean it was sunny, in fact she could see it was raining at that very moment. She felt Richard shifting, turned over to find him stretching.

“Good Morning,” she said, moving in to kiss him. When they broke the kiss he just kept looking at her, smiling to himself. She waited for him to say something, eventually getting mildly annoyed and prompting him. “What is it?”

“Did you know that Cambridgeshire is currently suffering from a drought?” Ok, that wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting him to say.

“A drought? Well, I don’t think they have to worry too much, it’s raining right now.”

“Be that as it may, the county will require a lot more rain before it is out of drought,” he explained.

She just shook her head, “I really don’t understand where you are going with this, if in fact you are going anywhere. This has a point right? You aren’t just trying to educate me on British weather patterns?”

“Well, Camille, since the county is in drought I feel we should make an effort to conserve water. For example, by sharing a shower.”

Now _that_ was a conservation effort Camille could definitely support.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille was pretty sure whoever cleaned the room would wonder what on earth had gone on in the bathroom, but since they were returning to Cambridge this morning there was no need for her to really worry about that. Richard was still in there, using one of the disposable razors she’d brought for her legs to shave because she hadn’t been willing to let him go back to his room just yet. There was a knock on the door, which surprised her, it was only 8 and surely too early for the cleaner to be coming around now, check out wasn’t until 11.

When she opened to door, it proved to be Ella. “Good Morning,” she said to Camille, all smiles. “I wanted a quick word with Richard.”

“Is he not in his room?” Camille asked, feigning cluelessness.

Ella smirked, “I didn’t both going there because I knew he was here. Funny story, standing out on out the balcony last night Anthony and I hear a woman who sounded _very_ much like you shouting. She threw this notebook out of the window that, upon examination, proves to belong to my dear cousin. You can see why I might conclude he is in fact here rather than his own room, it certainly sounded like he wasn’t intending to go anywhere else for some time.”

Camille didn’t think she’d been this embarrassed since her mother had caught her letting her boyfriend touch her breasts when she was 15. She also knew Richard was not going to react to his family knowing about them well. He had obviously overheard the conversation between herself and Ella, because he opened the bathroom door and leaned against the frame, looking a tad sheepish. Ella just gave her cousin the same smirk she had received.

“Good morning, Ella,” Richard began tentatively, probably desperately trying to figure out how to convince his cousin not to tell his _whole_ family about which room he’d spent the night in. Camille got the impression maybe it would be easier if she wasn’t there.

“You know what,” she said, grabbing her shoes. “I’m quite hungry…”

“Work up an appetite, did you?” Ella interrupted, clearly enjoying making Camille uncomfortable as much as she did Richard.

“Um, maybe I’ll go down for breakfast now and see you a bit later.”

She didn’t bother to wait for a reply.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ella,” Richard began, with a touch of firmness to his tone. “I don’t think the situation is entirely what you think.”

“You mean you _didn’t_ spend the evening having a lively debate about the merits of the welfare state?” Ella asked, faking a shocked look.

He sighed, his cousin was so _very_ impossible. “I’m sure your _actual_ conclusions of how we spent the night are correct. But this was, it is, a one off thing.”

“Richard!” Ella cried, clearly quite shocked at him. He realised he must sound like some sort of cad.

“No, no, I don’t mean like a one night stand, Camille agrees with me. To attempt a, um, you know, romantic relationship given our current working relationship would be untenable. She suggested we just leave it in England and return to the status quo once we are back on Saint Marie.”

Ella gave him a disbelieving look, “You really think that will work? That you’ll just be able to ignore all of your feelings and carry on as you were before?”

“Well I was a bit worried about that,” he conceded. “But then she told me she had two friends who when they were in London for a wedding they, um, took their relationship to another level but decided to just leave it in London and carry on as friends when they got back home. So clearly it’s possible.”

Ella gave him a thoughtful look, “Richard, were Camille’s friends called Monica and Chandler by any chance?”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“Oh my God man!” She said, throwing her arms up. “That is a plot from a television series. How have you never seen an episode of _Friends_? Oh, Richard!”

“Seriously? It’s from a TV show?” Ella nodded mutely. Richard couldn’t believe Camille would use it as an example, he felt a little bit manipulated. Mind he had been pretty panicked last night when the full implications of what they had done hit him, he supposed her intention had been to calm him down, and the lie was well meant. “But I mean, it worked on the TV show, right?”

Ella levelled him with a look, and didn’t reply. But her face clearly told him that that particular story line had _not_ ended in London.

Oh boy, he was in trouble.

 


End file.
